


Junk Shop

by Zilchtastic



Category: Disney Fairies
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilchtastic/pseuds/Zilchtastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newest fairy to arrive at Pixie Hollow has a hard time fitting in, but her talent for finding junk might just be what helps her find home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Junk Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just write a Mary Sue? Possibly. Here's hoping you can stand my OC-- I tried to make her as un-obnoxious as possible. Everyone's gotta write at least one, right? XD;

I. The Junk Shop

Tink followed the little dirt path down to the weeping willow tree. There, nestled under one of its heavy roots, sat a large cookie tin.

The tin was partially buried in the dirt, with a little half-wall of pebbles built up around it for extra stability. Though it was dirty (and rusted in places), the tin still had a bit of prettiness to it; the parchment-colored background gave way to a ring of holly and ivy, and on the top, mostly obscured by the root, scrolling words read " _joyouex noel!_ ". No one was quite sure what it meant, but it seemed to satisfy the tin's owner.

As she got closer Tink could make out the door and the two tiny windows. She'd made those additions herself; a bit of pixie dust and a lot of elbow grease had helped her to cut through the metal to make a place for a very nice wooden door that someone had painted off-white. 

The windows were small, and let in little light; again, this seemed to suit the owner just fine. The glass in them, made with joy by the glasswright fairies, was stained in swirling patterns of deep purple and dark blue.

Above the door was the sign, a piece of pale wood (a "popsicle stick", the owner called it), with "JUNK SHOPPE" carved into it in large, crude letters. Blueberry stain had been washed over it to bring out the words better.

Next to the door was another sign, this one stuck into the dirt with a toothpick. It read "TRADE OR A PINCH", which meant a pinch of pixie dust. It was how the shop operated.

Tink didn't need pixie dust today; she had things to trade. She pushed open the door, smiling vaguely at the sound of the bell tinkling above it.

The interior of the shop was dark, illuminated here and there by glowing orbs (the owner's proudest find; an entire bag of marbles which glowed in the dark). They hung from loose netting affixed to the ceiling with glue. It gave the shop an eerie ambience, made it look far too ominous for Tinkerbell's taste. The treasures collected within were worth the spooky atmosphere, however.

The shop's owner sat behind one of the long tables, in a chair tipped back precariously so she could rest her feet up. Her face was hidden behind a book; when Tink squinted, she could just make out the words on the cover: "DIY Crafts".

"Rylen," she said, out loud.

Rylen looked up from her book. She was a small, thin fairy, all sharp jutting lines, like a tool, Tink thought. A can opener, maybe-- No, a pocket knife. One of the ones with all the little contraptions hidden inside. She had platinum hair, short and jaggedly cut, as if she'd done it herself with a knife. Maybe she had.

"Tink." It was as warm a greeting as she ever gave. Even in the dim light Rylen's eyes looked pale and huge; in the sunlight, Tink knew, they were the pale green of beach glass. "Looking for something today?"

"Trading," Tink said, and she thrust out her armload almost aggressively. "What can I get for these?"

She held a batch of ladles-- copper, steel, and one of delicate and filigreed silver. Rylen's eyes lit up, and Tink had a feeling the silver ladle would be finding its way into the owner's private hoard.

"I've got lots of great stuff," Rylen said. "Come look."

The store was a mishmash, a crazy hodgepodge of items with no rhyme or reason, in no order or arrangement. That didn't seem to stop Rylen from knowing where everything was, however. "Here, these are new," she said, presenting an armload of a half-dozen screws in various sizes. Tink _hmmed_ over them, considering.

"Wait, I've got more." Rylen rushed to the back, then returned with a heavy watch, its face as big as her head. "It still keeps time," she said proudly, "and it's waterproof as well."

"Not really what I was looking for," Tink demurred.

"No worries, I think I've got something you'll love." Ry draped the watch over an already-overladen table, then disappeared under it. Tink could hear the sounds of grunting and straining, and heard dragging noises scraping over the tin floor. "Found this... Ngh... Yesterday. No handle, but it's in perfect shape for something I dragged out of the water."

She finally emerged from under the table, heaving out the massive head of an iron claw hammer.

Tink couldn't help herself; she 'oohed' appreciatively. It was precisely what she needed! A little pixie dust to shrink it down... She had a rotten, no-good hammer with a perfectly useable handle... And then that cursed frying pan that had been defying her for the better part of three days would finally get what was coming to it.

"I'll take it," she said.

Rylen grinned, her sharp, tip-tilted grin that always looked a little too Clumsy-- too _human_. "Pleasure doing business with you, Tink."

***

II. Rylen, Arriving

Everyone had gathered, murmuring in excitement. A new fairy! It had been a while since the last Arrival, and every talent group hoped against hope for a new member. The Animal Speaking fairies whispered furiously, the Cooking fairies shifted nervously, and the Scouts bit their lips and even crossed their fingers like Clumsies. Everyone wanted the new arrival to be part of their talent.

It didn't take long, however, to figure out that something was wrong with this laugh. A baby's first laugh was a joyous thing, a magical thing, and the laugh that could create a Never fairy was the most joyous and magical of all. But something was... off. Everyone could feel it.

The laugh was tainted. Tainted by grief.

Eyes turned toward the Queen, many in alarm. Queen Clarion lifted her chin, expression serene as always, but her eyes were worried around the edges.

The laugh gathered, shimmering, but it wasn't the lemon-yellow of a fairie's glow. It swirled with purples and blues, colors that shifted so deep they were almost too dark too see at times.

Finally, it burst, and the crowd stood back, dazzled. There stood a fairy, thin and bedraggled-looking, with glass-sharp eyes and dragonfly wings, her hair pale and short, her expression an enigma. She didn't glow right. The purple and blue swirled around her, obscuring only occasional flashes of yellow-gold. Her Arrival garment was simple, short, and fine as spidersilk in the same dark hues as her strange non-glow.

She stood, hands on hips, almost defiant, and looked around at the assembled fairies.

"Rylen," she said, and it took everyone a moment to realize the unpleasant-sounding word was her _name_. Her eyes narrowed in anger. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

***

III. Talents

"This is your room," Lina, a Decorating talent fairy, said kindly. "There's not much in it now, but give me a day and I can--"

"No!" Rylen put her back to the door, expression alarmed, and Lina stood back, startled. "I mean, uh, it's fine. I want to do it myself."

Lina tilted her head like a curious bird. "But this is my joy," she said, not understanding one bit.

"It's my joy too!" Rylen retorted.

It was the wrong thing to say. Lina clasped her hands, eyes going alight. "Oh, do you think so? That's wonderful! I'll tell the Queen!"

"No, I--" But it was too late to explain that she hadn't meant it like _that_. Rylen sighed. Now she'd have to disappoint the Queen all over again.

Apparently this had happened before, with a fairy named Prilla. No one had known what her talent was at first either, and the Queen had sent her hopefully, wanting to know if Ry could "blink" to the mainland too. No, she'd had to explain; she'd never seen a Clumsy child or been anywhere but here. Prilla had seemed disappointed, crestfallen even, and Ry had felt nothing but guilt. _Am I useless? Am I incomplete? What's wrong with me?_

People whispered it whenever they saw her-- "incomplete". She had her ear tips, she wanted to say. And yes, maybe her glow was strange and a little, well, intermittent. But she _had_ it, and when sprinkled with pixie dust for the first time she'd glimmered lemon-yellow for hours like any other fairy. No, she wasn't incomplete-- but that didn't mean she was quite _right_ , either, and she didn't know what to do about it.

Rylen opened the door and surveyed her room. It was so plain as to be spartan, with only the most basic of wooden furniture-- a desk, a chair, a bed. Only the bed showed any personality-- the posts were made from birch twigs, and their papery-white bark looked odd against the darkness of the other furniture.

_This was someone else's bed,_ Ry realized. _Another fairy lived here before me. Where did she go? What did she do? ___

It was a grim question, and Rylen could _feel_ her glow seep down into that purple-blue darkness again as she thought the answer. _She died. She died from disbelief. No clapping to save her._

_Gone._

A knock sounded at the door. It was time to face the Queen.

***

IV. Hoard

For the first few days, Rylen forgot to go to the mill for her cup of pixie dust. Terence had to seek her out finally, teacup in hand, to give her her daily allotment.

Something about the shimmer of the stuff bothered her-- she felt almost guilty using it, as if she wasn't worthy of something so good and magical. So after a week or so of uncomfortable dousings, Rylen finally produced a drawstring pouch and held it out. "Just pour it in here," she said, and Terence had done so, looking confused but resigned.

Rylen didn't mind. She didn't need to glow all the time, she told herself, and she didn't need to fly, either. She had perfectly good, strong legs that would carry her wherever she wanted to go. The ground was far less crowded than the sky, anyway-- so many fairies in one place made her nervous, made her itch to be alone. She spent too much time in her room, curled away from the window, feeling restless and cramped.

Her room was still an empty, faceless place. She didn't feel at home there, not one bit. She sat on the bed, knees hugged to her skinny chest, and told herself that she would never, ever cry.

A knock sounded at the door. Before she could call a greeting (or say "Go away!") the door swung open and Prilla peeked her cherubic face inside. "Evening, Ry!"

"Prilla." It was as much greeting as she could muster. Prilla was just so full of energy and joy. It was exhausting at times, and it made Rylen feel like a wet blanket in comparison.

"I thought you'd be here." Prilla looked around, wrinkling her nose critically. "It's still so... Ugh. You know, in here. It's just not _you_. So I brought you this." She held something out, beaming with pride.

Rylen blinked. It was a glass bead, faceted and clear, but with a rainbow sheen that made it sparkle in the late evening sunlight that filtered into her room. "It's pretty," she admitted, trying not to sound as fascinated as she was. "Where did you get it?"

"Havendish Stream!" Prilla told her excitedly. "Sometimes you find the most interesting things there. Ooh, and you should see the beach! Clumsy stuff washes ashore there all the time."

Rylen felt something, like a stirring in her heart. "Could we... Would you show me sometime?"

Prilla's eyes lit with excitement. "The beach? Of course! We'll have to fly, but that's all right, isn't it? You'll love it, I just know! We can go there first thing tomorrow!"

Rylen went to sleep that night with something curiously like hope in her heart.

The next day dawned beautiful and warm, with only a few scudding clouds high in the sky and a breeze so gentle it felt like a caress. It was a perfect day to fly, and Rylen found herself almost enjoying the trip as she followed Prilla to "the best spot on the whole beach". She kept close to the ground the entire time, sometimes even brushing the grass as she flew-- something about being up high just terrified her, even though she knew it was absurd. _You're covered in pixie dust. You're not going to fall. _But Prilla didn't say anything about it, or urge her higher, she just kept pace and talked cheerfully as they went. It was... nice.__

They arrived at the beach, and Ry got her first look at the sand and the rolling blue-green waves of the ocean. _It's beautiful_ , she decided. The frothy surf looked so tempting-- would the water be warm? Would it tickle her toes? But she couldn't risk soaking her wings, and one errant wave could easily drag her out to sea. She resisted the temptation.

"Let's look around," Prilla said, smiling a knowing smile. "Maybe we'll find something fun! Like a treasure hunt!"

Ry thought that a treasure hunt sounded-- well, grand, really. She couldn't imagine anything better than finding some buried treasure, lost and then rediscovered just for her. "Where should we start?" she asked, looking around eagerly.

Prilla laughed. "I'll start by that driftwood log," she said. "Why don't you scout the shoreline?"

She had to fly higher to get a better view-- but it was less scary, now that she had something to focus on. Rylen fluttered up and down the beach, scanning the place where the sand met the waves, looking for-- Well, she didn't know what, exactly. Something _good_ , she thought. Something _useful_.

Something glinted at her, silvery, winking half-buried in the sand. "Prilla! Prilla, over here!"

The two fairies approached carefully. There in the sand shone what looked like the handle of a silver fork.

Prilla looked delighted. "You pull on the end," she said. "I'll dig out the front!"

With much pulling and digging and finally a bit of pixie dust, they managed to unearth the heavy silver fork. It had three tines, one slightly bent, but the others were in perfect shape. The handle featured beautiful scrollwork, and scalloped edges finished it off.

Rylen was nearly beside herself with excitement. "I can't believe I actually found something!"

She felt strangely whole, as if her life's purpose had just been revealed. She sucked in a startled breath at the thought. _Could this be my Talent? Finding things?_ Hope welled up in her chest until she thought she might burst.

"You could do all sorts of things with this," Prilla told her encouragingly. "Like, you could, um..."

"If I could get someone to bend the tines, I could put it on my wall. I could hang things from it." Ry suddenly knew exactly where it should go, how it ought to look. "Do you think Tinker Bell would be willing to help?"

Prilla grinned. "I know she would. C'mon, let's dust this thing up and get it home."

Tink had frowned at their request-- not in disapproval, Rylen learned, but in challenge. "I could heat it," she said, eyes staring off into the middle distance as she considered, "and then it would be easier to bend. I could hammer the tines around something to curl them. And then maybe I could drill a hole in the handle to hang it from."

"Sounds like a great idea to me." Prilla smiled. She nudged her elbow into Rylen's ribs. "See? I told you Tink could do it."

Tinker Bell was already starting a fire in her workshop stove. "Come back tomorrow," she murmured, preoccupied.

The fork was a minor thing, Ry told herself. Just a lucky find. But as she made her way back to her room in the Home Tree, she felt content for the first time since her Arrival. _Maybe I'll go back to the beach tomorrow,_ she thought to herself. _Or maybe I'll see what's down by the stream..._ She had a knack for finding things, it turned out. The next day she discovered a gold coin shimmering in a shallow part of the stream, and the day after that she found a thimble and a large sewing needle in a little plastic bag that had washed ashore. She found several matches to the glass jewel Prilla had brought her-- enough that she was able to string them up and hang them on the wall next to her bed. The silver fork gleamed brightly on the other wall, and it seemed to shine with all her pride.

She woke up each day more excited than the last, eager to hunt for more treasures. Clumsy items were her favorite-- they gave her so many ideas, and had so many clever uses! She found a lost button-- a deep blue thing as big as a plate-- and hung it on the wall next to the fork. She almost stumbled over a pretty orange ribbon caught on a prickly weed-- she brought it to the sewing talent fairies, and they made her a useful belt. She still preferred to walk rather than fly, but she held her head high now with pride. _I can do something. I can be useful. I'm not incomplete._ "We don't know exactly what to call your talent," Queen Clarion murmured to her one quiet evening, as she sat at her window admiring the sunset, "but it seems to be useful. I'm happy for you, Rylen. You've found your joy."

And she had, though it never quite banished her strange darkness, that dim sub-light glow that broke through when she went too many days without pixie dust. The healing talent fairies tried every remedy they knew-- she washed with goldenseal scrub for days, drank teas that tasted like sunshine and citrus, all to no avail. It seemed to be an inherent part of her, something that couldn't be banished no matter what she tried.

At night she dreamed terrible dreams, dreams of laughter cut short, dreams of laughter ended. She dreamed of falling, and woke terrified and gasping just before she hit the cruel, hard ground. She put her hands to her cheeks and found wetness there. _I will not cry. I will not cry._

She cried.

That day, she made her way hesitantly to the hawthorn tree at the edge of Pixie Hollow. Something called her there, made her seek out the one they called Mother Dove.

It was quiet, and the air was still. It was so early the sun had not yet risen, and dew shimmered in the grass. Rylen half-climbed, half-flew up to each branch of the tree, higher and higher. She did not look down.

She found a nest made of grass and twigs, so lovingly assembled it looked like a piece of art. In it sat Mother Dove, serene and beautiful, her neck arched gracefully as she watched the hesitant fairy approach.

"Come closer, dear," Mother Dove called. "It's all right. You're supposed to be here."

The words were soothing, but Ry still moved cautiously. Her glow today flared back and forth-- the cup and a half of pixie dust she'd poured over her head upon waking warred with the blue-violet darkness. She crawled up the branch, stopping just before the nest, and sat down. She hooked her ankles together and stared at a place straight ahead, seeing only a blur of leaves and branches.

"I'm wrong," she said finally, her voice flat, as dull as she could make it. "I was made wrong. Something... something bad happened to that laugh, I think."

Mother Dove dipped her head-- a nod of sorts, an acknowledgment. "Something terrible. But that doesn't make you wrong, dear. It only makes you _you_."

She felt tears sting her eyes again and wiped at them furiously. "What does that mean? That I'm supposed to be this way?"

Mother Dove made a sound, a patient, gentle coo. "Never Land has to want a laugh for it to become a Never Fairy," she explained. "If you weren't meant to be just as you are, you would not be at all."

Rylen sniffled. _I will not cry!_ "The baby... The baby that laughed. It died, didn't it? I was its first laugh-- and its last."

"I believe so," Mother Dove said, and finally hearing it out loud was just too much. Rylen burst into tears, gasping sobs that wracked her thin shoulders. Mother Dove let out a wing, sheltering her, hiding her from the world beneath the softest feathers Ry had ever felt. She cried until she could cry no more, and when she was done, Mother Dove cooed softly.

"So that's why I'm wrong," Ry said at last. "That's why. The laugh was tainted."

"The laugh was not tainted, and you are not wrong. It was a pure laugh, a laugh that made you who you are." Mother Dove pulled her closer, let her huddle against her warm, downy side. "Whatever happened after... It is a terrible thing, but it wasn't your fault. You were born of joy, like all Never Fairies. Whatever else is in you is a legacy of that child."

"Am I like Prilla?" she wanted to know.

"You're like yourself. But if you mean, is there something extra in you, some bit of humanness? I believe so. It greives me that it pains you so, my child. I'm sorry. But I would not change you if I could. Not for all the treasures in the world."

That calmed her spirit, somehow. "Treasures," she murmured. "That's... I think that's my talent. Finding treasures."

"And it's a beautiful talent," Mother Dove said. "You just need to figure out exactly how to use it."

Rylen tilted her head. "How to use it?"

"There are many ways to use one's talents, child. Some are purely selfish. Others are purely generous. You'll know what to do when the time comes."

Ry nodded, content to believe in Mother Dove's wisdom. "I... Thank you," she said, hesitantly.

"That is a very human thing to say," said Mother Dove.

"I know. Prilla says it too. At least I get fewer strange looks when I'm with her."

Mother Dove made a sound that was probably a chuckle. "Prilla is a dear thing. Value her friendship. It's good for you."

Ry ducked her head, feeling embarrassed. "I should go."

"Of course, dear heart. Visit me any time you wish."

Ry paused. "Okay."

"I mean that. If your heart troubles you, if your dreams hurt, come to me. I will do whatever I can to help."

Rylen had to leave, then, because such generous, selfless love made her feel awkward and unworthy. But as she walked a slow path back to the home tree, she thought long and hard about what Mother Dove had said.

_Maybe I'm not wrong. Maybe... Maybe I'm just what Never Land needed me to be._

***

V. Overflow

Prilla was giggling as she bounced onto Rylen's bed. "I can't believe how much _stuff_ you've found! It's amazing."

The room was a little more cozy now. Well, maybe "cozy" wasn't quite the word. "Overcrowded" was more like it.

"I can't stop collecting all this junk," Ry said, waving a hand deprciatingly, "but I'm running out of places to put it. Maybe I should find my own tree, like Vidia."

"I think you'd just fill that up, too," Prilla said.

She would, though the idea of more space-- and more privacy-- was still appealing. Rylen sighed. "Still. I have to think of something to do with all this stuff. If only I had a workshop, like Tink."

Prilla's eyebrows went up. "A workshop? For what?"

"For, I dunno." Ry gestured futilely with one hand. "For all the things I find. People could come and look through them, and I could help them find things to do with them."

Prilla grasped her hands, excited all at once. "That's a great idea! It could be like... like a shop! Humans do that, you know-- have shops. They're full of all sorts of things, and anyone can go there to find whatever they want!"

Ry had the dim notion that it wasn't quite that simple. "We're _fairies_ , though. We don't sell our talents. That would be weird, wouldn't it?" She frowned. "Don't Clumsies use money? We don't do that. It's too stupid."

"Could you really give away all your treasures?" Prilla asked.

Ry winced. "Well... Not _all_ of them... But I can always find more, can't I?"

"Maybe you could trade," Prilla said. "A treasure for a treasure. I'm sure lots of other fairies have junk they haven't found a use for yet. They could give it to you, in exchange for something they _could_ use."

It was starting to sound like an actual plan. "Or if they have nothing to trade, I could always ask for a pinch of pixie dust," Ry joked.

"Are you still saving it up? Vidia does that too."

Rylen made a face at the mention of the fast-flying fairy. "I just like to keep things," she said. "I might need it some day, for... something."

Prilla giggled. "I think you should do it," she said. "You really just need to find a good place for a workshop!"

Rylen thought about it, off and on, as she went through her day. A shop. A shop. A place full of things, to help people, to trade. A place of her own. A way to be generous while still keeping her beloved hoard. But how? And where?

She found it on the beach, washed up and mostly covered in kelp. A cookie tin, big enough to be a fairy room, with a lid and a pretty pattern of flowers and leaves. It would need some modification, of course... And it would take some doing to get it all the way back to Pixie Hollow... Rylen's eyes stayed fixed on the tin. _I can do this. I can do this._

She flew back as fast as her wings would take her to get help. A junk shop, she thought. A beautiful, beautiful junk shop just for her. A place for so many treasures. "Everyone!" she called, and curious fairy faces upturned at the sound of her voice. "Listen! I need your help!"

***

VI. Home

She'd found the perfect spot, under the gnarled root of a weeping willow tree not far from Havendish Stream. So many fairies pitched in to help-- miner talent fairies helped her dig it into the dirt securely, and masonry-talent fairies helped build a foundation wall to hold it even firmer. Even the worst storm wouldn't dislodge her little tin shop. Glasswright-talent fairies were eager to lend a hand when she explained her window idea, and Tink herself cut out the space for the windows and the door. She could even prop the lid open a little on sunny days when she needed more light. It was perfect.

She made the sign herself, digging the words into wood with a clumsy but eager hand. Bess helped her stain it so that the words stood out, plain for all to see. "JUNK SHOPPE" it read, and she stood back with pride as Tink screwed it into place above the door. 

She thanked every fairy she could find, ignoring the odd but humoring looks they gave her every time. _This is my joy,_ they said, over and over. _You don't need to thank me._

This was her joy, her treasure box, just waiting to be filled. Rylen's heart thrilled at the sight. It took all her willpower to keep from smiling like an idiot.

This was home. At last, this place was home.


End file.
